erotica

Summer Giveaway: 8 FREE BOOKS + BONUS MATERIAL!

Captured_Book_OneVOTN

Captured: Book One Of Vixen Of The Norse

These are dangerous times for English folk living on the Northumbrian coast, as tales of violent men from across the seas spread throughout the country.

Aedra is a high-spirited youth who enjoys the chance to escape the protection of her parents, but the young girl is soon to learn a harsh lesson at the hands of vile strangers.

Will she survive or will she succumb to the cruelty of the Norsemen?

THECAGE1

The Cage: Book One Of Groupie

Katy is desperate to make her mark as a music journalist, and when she gets her chance, she lets rip in an album review.

Little does she know that her next assignment will be to interview the band, and that in the music industry, what goes around comes around.

Abducted_One

Abducted: Book One Of The Mating Games

Luna never wanted to go into space. But life can play tricks on you sometimes.

Struggling for a living, working two jobs and living in a run-down apartment in a rough part of the city, her life is stuck in a rut.

Then, one night, something strange happens to Luna, an unexpected encounter that will set in motion an extraordinary adventure and change her life for ever.

OVERFLOWING

Experimentally Overflowing

Kelly is a struggling, beautiful young artist trapped in the deadbeat town of Twin Falls, Minnesota.

When an opportunity to swipe some fast cash comes along in the form of testing a new hormone drug, she doesn’t stop twice to think about the implications of a hormone-induced rack will mean in the experiment room. 

HEFOLLOWS

He Follows + A Hotwife Valentine

Martin and Karen are a typical suburban couple, living a comfortable if passionless marriage, life, troubled only by the fact that Martin has a big secret that is weighing him down with guilt, but a chance encounter with a mysterious man is about to change all that. In the course of one extraordinary day, Martin follows the mysterious man as he visits the houses of several married women throughout town.

But what happens when Martin follows the mysterious man to his own house?

Martin is about to learn a great deal about himself, his marriage, and what it takes to be a man.

XMASPRESENT

Blacked Wives: Big Black Christmas Present

Sarah loves her husband, Mike, but as the heat fades from their marriage, she turns to her innermost fantasies, exploring her enduring lust for an interracial encounter.

One day, Mike surprises her with a proposition, a proposition that will make her dreams come true. Will she remain the faithful, frustrated wife, or will she take the plunge and face her desires?

SWINGING

My Swinging Confession

Helen and Jack have an idyllic marriage. They live in a beautiful house in a pleasant part of town and everything between them is perfect. Well, almost perfect.

There is one secret, one dark fantasy that Helen thought would never come true, until they meet a couple who push their boundaries and turn desire into reality.

Bimbo_Amnesia

Bimbo Amnesia

Simon is a middle-aged nobody, stuck in the same boring job for fifteen years. So when Helena, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, asks him on a date, he thinks he is the luckiest guy in the world.

But Simon’s life is about to get a lot more complicated when Helena brings her daughter Hannah to live with them.

How lucky can one guy get? Simon is about to find out.

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Daddy?!

Excerpt from Daddy?!:

Hey, how are you? I’m Samantha, or Sam, if you like. My mother says when I was a girl, I used to insist that I was a boy and that everyone should call me Sam. I got the impression as I was growing up that she was worried I was going to turn out to be a lesbian or a transgender person or something like that. I think she was ‘relieved’ when I turned out to be a tall, sexy, confident young woman, with a healthy appetite in men. But given what has happened recently, maybe she might wish I was a lesbian after all. She would certainly have less to worry about!

But I’ll get into that soon. As it happens, I do remember being kind of boyish. But that changed, almost overnight, about the age of 15, when I looked in the mirror and saw a gorgeous young woman staring back at me. It was quite a revelation. I mean, I’d always assumed I was ugly – that’s what our society gets young girls thinking – if you’re not a princess, you’re ugly. I knew I wasn’t a princess because I liked baseball and rude jokes and climbing trees.

Yet when I looked in that mirror, I realized that, actually, I was pretty. More than pretty. I was hot. I had options. And I didn’t waste any time exploring them.

I kind of went off the rails at that time. I had boyfriends, I went to parties, I tried drugs; nothing heavy, and they didn’t stick, fortunately. I had a fantastic time. I also blew any chance I had of going to college. So at the age of eighteen, my mom had that conversation with me: the one about getting a job. I preferred that one to the conversation about finding a good husband or the talk that ended with her recommending I start acting more ‘ladylike’ whatever the fuck that was.

So I did what she asked. I got a job. I got a job as a stripper at Angels, a club in the city. I told her I was a waitress, which she thought was bad enough. I remember her look, when I told her I was waitressing. For about the one-thousandth time in my life, she gave me that disappointed look. It was that look, more than anything else, that made me determined to see the job through.

Next evening I caught a cab into the city and my career as a stripper began. If I had been the good little girl my mom wanted me to be, I would have been shocked at what I saw there. It was kind of strange to see so many men cheering and lusting after half-naked women, but the way I rationalized things, it wasn’t so different from a normal night out, only this time the desperate men had to pay a lot more for the privilege of spending time with us.

The money was good too, even if the hours were a bit crazy. On a few Sundays I was just getting back to our house, walking in half-asleep, wearing a long jacket and not much else, just as my mom was heading out to church. I was usually too tired to listen to her lectures, and just crashed on my bed. I wasn’t worried that she would find out. For one thing, my mom kept herself to herself. We didn’t have a wide circle of family or friends. And for another, I wore a wig, a red one, while I was dancing, and went by the name of Cassie.

The dancing was easy. I mean, I’ve been dancing and performing since I was young: ballet, tap dancing, cheerleading. Once I got past the initial nerves, I felt free and natural up on stage, and I picked up some tips from the other girls. I was only a stage dancer to begin with. Roxie, who ran the club, asked me several times if I was ready to do private dances, but I always said no. That was where the real money was made though, so eventually I gave in.

I wasn’t planning to, but I had just come off stage, when Helen grabbed me and told me that some guy wanted a private dance. I told her I was too tired, but then she said he had been pretty insistent, and that he was kind of cute for an older guy.

An older guy. Older guys are my weakness. I have never been with an older guy, in fact, for all my partying, I’m still kind of inexperienced and one of the reasons is I’ve yet to find the right guy. That right guy is probably in his fifties, fit, tanned, looks after himself, and maybe has a touch of grey in his hair, but a big smile, and a strong body. He is wise, and kind, and tough. And for the first time in my life, I had finally met someone who fitted exactly that description.

Helen pointed him out to me as we peeped round the stage door. I almost melted right there. I could feel my whole body tingling as I looked at him.

“Okay. Yes. Yes, I’ll do it,” I said

“Great,” said Helen. “Go tell him.”

I looked at her desperately, and she smiled, tapped me on the shoulder and told me that I looked hot and there was nothing to worry about.

That’s not how I felt as I stepped out of the door and headed over to him. Putting on my sweetest smile, I tried not to show how nervous I was.

“Would…would you like a private dance?”

He smiled back, a wide, generous, wonderful smile and I nearly melted all over again.

“Sure. I would be delighted,” he replied, in a gravely, sexy voice. Still a little shaky, I led the way to the private booths. I was wearing a little plaid skirt and a white crop top and I could sense him checking out my ass as I walked, but that didn’t gross me out. In fact it turned me on a hell of a lot, so much so that I gave an extra little wiggle as I walked, just for him.

He took a seat and loosened his tie as I closed the door behind us. The booth was kind of small, but it was big enough for me to perform in, and the intimacy was kind of hot.

“What’s your name?” he asked

“Cassie,” I replied, starting to sway to the music.

“Why don’t you show me your real hair, Cassie,” he said. I hesitated and then I thought, hell, why not. So I took off my red wig and shook out my blonde hair.

“Stunning!” he said, then smiled. I smiled back and the chemistry between us was instant. I put on my very best show for him. I started by stripping slowly, untying my cropped top, slipping out of my skirt, all the time turning, showing him every part of me. I could tell that he was getting into it, his lips were slightly parted, and he was clearly getting stiff. Throwing off my top I lifted up my leg and planted my foot on the arm of his chair. Then I straddled him, feeling his bulge against me. I was so close, he must have felt my heat, my dampness. If he’d grabbed me right then I would have let him fuck me. But he didn’t of course, he was a perfect gentleman.

Later I asked the other girls if it was normal to get turned on doing a private dance, at least, the first time. Helen laughed and Donna said that had never, ever happened. That didn’t help. I wandered out of the club and into my bed that night as though I had met the man I was meant to be with and fallen in love. It was foolish, I kept telling myself, but I couldn’t help it.

The man showed up three more times. Every dance I did for him was as hot as the last one. The third time we were practically fucking in his lap. The dance overran by ten minutes and I was so lost in it that I didn’t realize until security started banging on the door, asking if I was okay.

I finished early that night and wandered home in a daze. I knew how I was feeling was crazy. I mean, I didn’t even know his name. But I was lost in love or lust or passion; I didn’t know what to call it, all I knew was that I wanted him, wanted him more than anyone.

Continue Reading…

Caught & Taught: Lessons From Daddy

Excerpt From Caught & Taught: Lessons From Daddy:

I love being in the car with Cam. He rests one hand on my knee, the other firmly on the steering wheel, winding his dark blue truck through the neighborhood we’ve grown up in. It always takes me back, seeing how big his hands are splayed across my leg. He’s the starting wide receiver for the football team so I guess it makes sense, but still.

I bounce my leg absentmindedly to the music blaring from his stereo, and his hand tightens around my leg. I feel a little jolt as he does, even though I’m wearing jeans. My body is always hyper-sensitive whenever he’s around me, even after six weeks. Of course, it’s even more so right now because of what we talked about last night…

Jules, Cam had whispered, pulling back from me and holding my face gently in his hands. “Jules, I love you.”

It felt exactly how I’d heard it would feel—the swooping in my stomach, the softening of the glow of lamplight streaming into the car from the empty parking lot we’d stopped to make out in. Goosebumps erupted on my arms and I felt his eyes blaze with honesty and a little fear.

“I…love you too,” I whispered, never taking my hazel eyes from his big brown ones.

He pulled me closer to him, his mouth moving urgently against mine. One hand slipped down my loose blouse and I felt my breath catch as he worked the clasp of my bra off with one hand before moving to cup my full B cup, caressing it softly. I closed my eyes in bliss and I felt the blouse being slipped over my head, my bra straps falling away from my shoulders in a whisper of Victoria’s Secret lace. He kissed me with an intensity that was almost painful, his mouth hard on mine and his arms wrapped around me across the car’s console. The gear stick dug uncomfortably into my stomach as he pulled me towards him, and suddenly I felt his hand ghost downward, slowly, but not hesitantly, and slip inside the waistband of my jeans. I sucked in a breath and he paused, looking intently into my face. I knew what he wanted and he knew I knew, but nevertheless I froze with indecision. Reluctantly, he pulled back from me, and in the cooling air I felt my firm, round, tits tighten.

“It’s just…it would be my first time,” I said, my voice low. My voice came out a little husky; we’d been kissing for a long time and I could feel the words struggling past my lips, slightly swollen in a post-make out pout. Cam smiled kindly; I could see the wheels in his non-virgin head turning. I remember I held my breath—I knew what he was supposed to say, but did he?

“We can wait as long as you need,” he said, leaning towards me and giving me a soft, sweet kiss. He reached down and picked up my bra, my inside-out blouse. “We can also do it somewhere more special if you’d like.”

My face split into the biggest, most ridiculous grin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relieved. “Special would be nice.” He pushed my long, thick caramel-brown hair out of my face and kissed me again.

“A special night for a special girl, then.”

Cam pulled into my driveway, the friendly little ranch house I grew up in twinkly with lights from the family room and front porch. He put the car in park and leaned over.

“So…my parents are going to be at a friend’s house tomorrow night. Do you want to come over then?” His eyes sparked like a fresh-lit piece of firewood, and I knew he didn’t just mean for a movie and cuddles. I felt my eyes slide away, but took a deep breath.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” my voice came out even, if a little high-pitched. He smiled a slow, lazy smile, that didn’t really conceal the excitement in his voice.

“Awesome,” he leaned over and gave me a big kiss, with tongue. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

I got out of the car and waved as he backed out and pulled away, then turned and walked slowly into the house.

Tomorrow.

“Hello, Jenny,” Christian, my stepdad, called out as I came in.

“Hey,” I said absently, heading for the stairs.

“How was your day?” Christian isn’t really good at taking  hints. I stopped, taking the second from when Christian looked over from the couch to quickly adjust my blouse. I could only hope my bra straps were in their proper place.

“Fine. We learned about Cleopatra in history.” I’ve learned that if you give adults a specific about your day when they launch the “how was your day” question, they’re more likely to let you slink out of the conversation. It’s not that I don’t like Christian or enjoy talking to him, but he’s disconcertingly handsome and not someone I want to be talking to while thinking about Cam. They both have these intense brown eyes that linger uncomfortably on yours while you’re talking, which is great when you want to feel like everything you’re saying is important but not so much when you’re seeing your boyfriend in the face of your mom’s second husband. Speaking of.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Working late tonight at the hairdresser. Someone came in with a DIY ohmbray fail or something.”

“You mean Ombre?”

“Is that where you make your head look like there’s two different colors for no reason?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Then yeah, that.”

“Uh huh,” I eye the staircase, and Christian gives an exaggerated, but good-natured sigh. “Go on, interrogation over.” I feel my dimples flash even as I turn away, and there’s a weird ripple in the room as Christian pretends not to watch me leave the room.

I’m passing by the office on my way to my room when I pause, struck by a thought. Of course. This whole thing at Cam’s house tomorrow night doesn’t have to be nearly as scary as it seems right now. I can hear the T.V. show going downstairs and know it’s safe for now, so I go into the office and close the door quietly behind me before going to the computer on the desk. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know enough to open an “incognito” window and make sure Adblock is working before I proceed. But then, how to proceed? The Google box sits in front of me, expectant. Shyly, I push the buttons. P-O-R-N. Pause. Add a word at the beginning. G-O-O-D. ENTER.

Instantly, the screen is awash in “good porn.” The number of sites is nearly as overwhelming as the absurdity of the titles. “Threesome does 69 minutes of 69”—what?? I scroll slowly, feeling weirdly dirty, but in the way a naughty child who’s been playing outside and ignoring his mother’s calls to come in more so than a child who’s lost control and fallen into the dirt. I click a safer-looking video, if that makes any sense, and immediately a blaring moan fills the room. Shit. I scramble for the volume, wrench the dial sideways. The noise only lasted a second but even so I’m spooked, moving quickly to the door and easing it open to make sure Christian hasn’t heard anything. No noise from downstairs, and the T.V. is still on. All good signs. I close the door again and go back to the computer, fascinated. Slowly, I ease the volume up until it’s just barely audible. There’s not much in the way of a script. A totally average-looking guy dressed up like a mailman rings a doorbell, and a totally overdressed woman who I’m assuming is the “Mom” in “Mom gets railed by the postmaster” answers the door in a sheer, black lace dress that she’s literally bursting out of. I’m pretty sure it was an accident when her one breast pops out less than two seconds into her “conversation” with the mail guy about what she could possibly spend her whole day doing (ha-ha).

Once I get over the fakeness of it all, I start to pay attention. The noises, his hand, her bodies curves and arches. It all seems like a grand masquerade, with the woman in the center of it all. I start to feel a weird pit forming in my stomach and instinctively clench my abs against it. Guilt, maybe? But then I start to feel warm down between my legs, and suddenly, even though everything in my school’s sex-ed class has tried to tell me sex isn’t fun and there’s nothing appealing about it, I feel myself getting wet. I think it was when the young girl showed up and pushed the older woman away from her man. “Shelly Takes Control” or something. Whoever Shelly was, she was awesome. Almost unconsciously, my hand drifted to my own waistband. I unzipped myself and nervously poked a finger into the soft down that I kept neatly trimmed. I kind of wiggled it around a little, feeling it getting wet from myself, but then the buzz started to fade and I stopped, confused. Whenever the girls in the clips touched themselves, or when their partner was touching them, they went crazy, moaning and breathing heavy and even screaming a little. Maybe…I shimmied my jeans down a little to give myself better access, and gave myself an experimental stroke a little further down. Then a couple more. Nothing, nothing, maybe a little—suddenly, it was like a bolt a fire seared across my belly, making my abs clench and my breath catch in a whoosh. OH. The feeling was addictive, my finger explored again, earnestly, and it was a few moments but then once again, that fiery whoosh swept through me. My finger was soaked, and for the first time I understood what Cam’s nasty teammates said when they leered at the easy girls in school and said they thought they smelled them coming.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Shit shit shit. I froze, my brain launching into overdrive at all the things I needed to do, that were impossible to do, in the next five seconds. Closetheinternetwindowpullupyourpantswipeyourfingerdon’tlooklikeyouwerejustwatchingpornforfortyfiveminutes.

I’m utterly paralyzed as Christian opens the door, frozen with my hand still between my legs, my silky blue panties pushed aside by my own impatient hand, jeans caught partway down my legs, one hand crept up to my breast at some point, and I know my hair is a mess from rocking against myself for so long. He, too, freezes, and for a moment we just look at one another.

Continue Reading…

3 NEW BUNDLES – (Forced Submissions, Lesbians, & Monsters)

3 new bundles, 24 books, and over 570 pages.

Forced To Come: A Dubious Consent 10 Book Bundle

FORCEDTOCOME

A sadistic billionaire playboy, a ruthless mafia boss, hordes of rugged vikings, and a gang of perverted intruders.

Get ready to be taken against your will by alphas that don’t take no for an answer.

This bundles contains:

Tormented: I’ve Been Watching You

Tormented: The Woodland Ordeal

Tormented: The Box

His Debt My Innocence: Daddy’s Debt

His Debt My Innocence: Ganged By The Guests

His Debt My Innocence: Mr. Benutti’s Pet

Vixen Of The Norse: Captured

Vixen Of The Norse: Taking The Entire Horde

Vixen Of The Norse: Becoming She-Wolf

Naked Symphony: An Artist’s Forced Submission

Read This Bundle!

 

Reluctant Lesbians: 7 Books Of Forced Lesbian Submissions

ReluctantLesbos

An all female rock band, lesbian robots, and roller derby girls.

Thought you were straight?

You won’t be after these rough and dominant ladies get their hands on you.

This bundle contains:

Groupie: The Cage

Groupie: Kitty Kat

Groupie: The Exhibtionist

Lesbots: Experiment Gone Wrong

Lesbots: Dominating Mika

Lesbots: Breaking Mika

Roller Derby Ravishment

Read This Bundle!

 

Alice In Wonderland: 7 Books Of Tentacles, Aliens, Ogres & More

ALICEINMONSTERLAND

Ready to get weird?

Check out this 7 book bundle of HOT MONSTER ACTION!

This bundle contains:

Lustica: Ganged By Trolls

Lustica: The Mating Ritual

Lustica: The Swamp Creatures

The Mating Games: Abducted

The Mating Games: The Cell

The Mating Games: Probed

Where The Wild Things Ravish

Read This Bundle!

6 FREE Erotic Shorts For Valentine’s Day + 2 FREE Guides On Writing Erotica

Spice up this Valentine’s Day with 6 FREE absolutely filthy erotica shorts

From February 14th – February 18th I will be making 6 of my books available for FREE on Amazon.  Choose one or indulge in all six.  There’s a little something for everyone from dubious consent to monster erotica.

Hotwife Valentine (cuckold)

The Plantation Owner’s Wife (white woman black man)

Full Body Search (forced lesbian submission)

Feeding The Cult Leader (lactation)

Blackmailed By My Husband’s Brother (dubious consent)

Beast Me: He Does Exist (monster)

Want more stories? Go to my AMAZON AUTHOR’S PAGE

 

I will also be making my two erotica writing how to guides available:  Confessions Of An Erotica Author: How To Write Smut That Sells & Confessions Of An Erotic Author: How To Build A Smut Publishing Empire.

*These two guides will only be available for FREE Valentine’s Day.

Tormented Series (3 Book Box Set)

They say that you should always be wary of getting what you want. Sometimes, when your innermost desires are realized, you find that your life is changed completely. That certainly happened to me. But I don’t regret it. Not for a second.

My name is Amy. At least, it is as far as you’re concerned. I can’t tell you my real name because I’m kind of a celebrity. I’m a news anchor for AYTV, broadcasting to twenty million Americans every day. I’m kind of on the fourth rung of celebrity, but soon I will be moving up. Thanks to a recent change of circumstances, and the help of a new patron who has a lot of influence, I will be starting work for one of the national networks in a few weeks time.

Don’t get me wrong, I deserve this shot. I’m good at what I do. I’m perky and cheerful in the mornings, but I can do solemn, and I’ve even been told I have good comic timing when I introduce the lighter items, like footage of a skateboarding duck or a politician falling over. I was even voted the second hottest female anchor in the region in a kind of creepy internet poll.

I love the thrill of the news industry. I adore the drama, the hustle, the excitement, and the buzz I get when the cameras go on, particularly if a big story is breaking. I didn’t grow up as a typical exhibitionist; I’ve always been kind of quiet, and I’d never thought of myself as a performer, until I got a part in a production of Grease in tenth grade. As soon as I stepped onto the stage, I felt calm, happy and alive. It’s been that way ever since. The bigger the audience, the better. It’s like there’s a whole other side to my personality. But that’s not the only other side to my personality

I guess I look like the girl next door. I’m often described as wholesome. I don’t know what that means, exactly. It makes me sound like a high fibre snack. It also makes me feel guilty; always has. All my life, people have been telling me I was a good girl, even when I wasn’t particularly well-behaved. There’s even a meme about me circulating on social media, in which my face is superimposed onto a nun’s body, and I’ve had emails asking me to dress up like that for Halloween. I guess I just look like a good girl. If only they knew! All those guys out there fantasizing about corrupting me, when it reality, it would be the other way round.

I do get a lot of fan mail, but my agent gets them first. I’m very careful of my privacy and I have to be extremely careful of anything I do in public. These days, one wrong move can be the end of your career. That’s one of the reasons why dating was hard. I had dated occasionally, but not with any success. All my dates fell into two categories: older industry execs who turn out to be creeps, and younger, fit, sports guys are usually boring and vacuous.

Caution wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t date much. The fact is that, up until a few weeks ago, I had got used to the idea that no man was going to be able to satisfy me. You see, about that other side of my personality, well the truth is, I am kind of, well, filthy. Behind closed doors, my favorite hobby is reading hard core erotica; the really extreme stuff.

Most nights, I ran home, tore off my clothes, took a long shower, retreated to my bed, opened up a book and then opened up my legs. I can tell you’re shocked!

The overriding theme of these books was submission. Most of the stories were about girls being tricked or forced into bondage and then forced to endure one sexual torment after another until finally they surrender to a life of wanton sex and servitude. Oh I know it was wrong and I had tried to stop, really I had. Ditching that bad habit would have made a lot of sense. But I couldn’t help it. And I always thought that, as long as it was my little secret, what harm could it do? Turns out, it could do a lot of harm. Guilty little secrets can be life changing.

It started a few weeks ago. I’d got home from the office on a Friday evening. I was pretty tired and just wanted to slip into my casual clothes and chill for a few hours. I’d just climbed up to my bedroom and taken off my blouse when my phone pinged. It was a text. Casually, I picked it up.

‘I’ve been watching you.”

Immediately I felt a chill running through me. What should I do? I threw the phone on the bed and hoped that whoever it was would go away. That didn’t work. Every minute, there was a new text. Eventually, angrily, I picked up the phone and replied, telling them to get lost.

‘Don’t think you can speak to me like that. I know where you live.’

‘No u are lying,’ I replied

‘227 Westchester Street.’ I froze. This person did know where I lived. My heart was thudding now. What should I do? Taking a deep breath, I texted back to say that I was going to call the police.

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I know what you do in your spare time. I know about your dirty books.’

My face flushed. I looked at myself in the mirror. Guilt was written all over my face. How could they possibly know?  I replied that I didn’t know what they were talking about.

‘Look behind the light fitting in your bedroom. You will find a camera.’

For the second time I felt a creeping cold feeling down my spine. Quickly, I climbed up onto the bed and looked. There it was! A tiny camera, attached to the light fitting, aiming directly at my bed, where I lay, where I read my books, where I touched myself! I ripped the camera off and threw it onto the ground.

‘You bastard!” I texted furiously. ‘I am going to the police.’

‘No you won’t. Unless you want your videos all over the internet.’

‘You’re bluffing.’

‘Try me’.

I hesitated. Could I take the chance? If a video of me masturbating made it onto the internet, I don’t know what I would do. It could be the end for my career.

‘What do you want? Money?’

‘No. Tomorrow you will get a package. Open it. Follow the instructions’.

That was it. Nothing else. I tried to find out what was going to be in the package; who they were, what they wanted with me. But they had stopped replying. Eventually I dropped the phone on the bed, and when I turned to look at myself in the mirror, I saw that my nipples were hard, poking through the silky black material of my bra.

*  *  *  *

The package arrived early the next day. My hands were shaking when I opened it, sitting on my bed. What was inside came as a shock. There were two clear plastic bags. In the first was an in impossibly sheer black lacy body, along with a thong and stockings. In the other, a collection of outrageous bondage gear. I recognized some of the items from my stories: a bright pink ball gag, ankle cuffs, a collar and lead, wrist cuffs and a paddle.

There was a note too. It was typed. It simply instructed me to put on the clothes, the cuffs and the lead, to leave my apartment door open and to be kneeling in my bedroom at 11 that night.

I told myself that there was no way I would be doing that. But as the day went by, I found my mind drifting continually to the bondage gear. I could feel a little tingle inside me, and I couldn’t explain it. The number that had texted me was not responding and as the day drew on and darkness fell, I felt increasingly trapped. I couldn’t go to the police; I couldn’t risk it.

At 1030 that night, I walked into my bedroom, slipped out of my clothes and pulled on the lacy body, the thong and then the stockings. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked hot, I had to concede. My blonde hair framed my face perfectly. I was slim, toned and my breasts were heavy and full. I would never have bought this outfit for myself, but I couldn’t help admiring how it looked on me as I turned this way and that in front of the mirror.

Next came the cuffs and the collar. It took me a while to adjust them, but they felt natural, comfortable. I am usually sensitive to anything constricting my neck, but the fur-lined collar, though it was tight, felt somehow right. Finally, I padded across my apartment to the door. With my heart thudding, I unlocked the door and returned to my bedroom, kneeling and facing the door.

I waited. It seemed like an eternity. Several times I heard footsteps in the distance and paused my breathing, only for the footsteps to fade. My heart was thudding in my chest so hard it felt like it was shaking the whole room. What was I doing? This was madness.

Just when I was thinking about dashing back out to close and lock the door, I heard more footsteps. These steps stopped. I heard the sound of my door opening. Whoever it was had entered my apartment. There was no turning back!

I heard heavy footfall across my apartment and then the door of my bedroom opened and I saw him. My tormentor. My stalker. My nemesis.

CONTINUE READING…

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Bimbofying The Brat

Meeting Beth was the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, meeting Beth and her daughter Katie, but I’ll get to that later.

I’m Bill. A few years ago my life was going nowhere. I’d been single for a long long time, I was close to hitting fifty and I’d pretty much given up on having a family life. My work as a software engineer was going great and the money was okay. I had a good house in a reasonably safe neighborhood. But I was lonely. Beth changed my life.

We met at a works party, one of those awful, self-conscious things, where everyone stands around not knowing what to say to one another, until the drink begins to flow. I bumped into her at the bar and on the spur of the moment, for something to say, asked her if she wanted a drink. To my surprise, she said yes.

Beth was a teacher, had been divorced for a while, and had lost her confidence with dating. I had never had much confidence to begin with, so we had that in common. It turned out that we also both loved 1940s movies, the countryside, and Italian food. I asked her on a date, she said yes, and amazingly, I didn’t screw it up.

My first few months with Beth were incredible. We could talk for hours, and the sex was incredible. We’d meet at my place or a hotel. Once we even did it in my car. She explained after one particularly hot session, that she had been starved of sex for years and wanted to make up for lost time. Well, we certainly did that, and, even after we were married and they moved into my place, it continued.

We had a great family life. As I worked from home, I could take care of the housework and when Beth and Katie came home, I’d cook for them, then we’d spend the evenings together. At weekends, we went for long walks, or went to the movies or had friends over. It was perfect. Well, almost perfect.

The only thing wrong with this movie was Beth’s dwindling interest in sex. It happened slowly, and started with excuses. She would say she was feeling ill or that we couldn’t because Katie was still awake or that she had an early start the next day and sex was too draining. Eventually, sex was something that happened at weekends, then every month, then once or twice a year, and by the time Katie was in her final year at school, it had virtually stopped.

I didn’t blame her, particularly. I knew that these things can happen in relationships, that it was something that couples needed to work through. But every time I raised it with Beth she shut the conversation down. Eventually, I became so frustrated that I started watching porn during the day. That was a big mistake. They say porn can be addictive, and they’re right. My work began to suffer as my appetite for porn grew. I couldn’t stop myself. I felt guilty about it, sure, but that wasn’t the only thing I felt guilty about.

Katie was my other guilty secret. She was eighteen. She was tall, willowy, with long blonde hair and a tanned, lithe body. Her breasts were perfect: round, perky, and when she ran through the house in just a little top and shorts – no bra – I had to close my eyes so that she wouldn’t see me staring at her breasts. Seriously, the way they jiggled under her tight tops was incredible. She didn’t seem to have any clothes that were not short, skin-tight or low-cut. One dinner, she sat directly opposite me and I could see her nipples clearly through her white tee. I sat there, unable to look up from my food because I knew I would stare.

It didn’t help that she appeared to have no self-consciousness. She had always been precocious – in every way – but she also seemed to enjoy showing off her body, or at least, felt very relaxed about it. In fact, I barely saw her wearing more than two items of clothing. She had the habit of working out in just a pair of yoga pants and a lycra top, or wandering through the house after showering, wearing just a white towel.

The combination of being sex-starved and in close proximity to Katie was too much for me. One night, I woke in the middle of an erotic dream about my step-daughter. My cock was rock hard and my heart was pounding. I sneaked out of bed to the bathroom, and there, I stroked myself to orgasm. I couldn’t help it. I crept back to bed, slipped between the sheets, and lay there, listening to Beth snoring. As I lay, wallowing in guilt, I made a decision. I had to resolve this situation, one way or another.

The next day, I deleted all of the links to porn on my computer, cleared my browser history and started my search for solutions. As Beth didn’t want to talk about our sexual problems, it was down to me to do the work. I logged on to some forums for marital problems and laid out my issue. I got loads of responses, many from women, offering suggestions and I began to feel optimistic that this was something we could work through.

But how would I broach the subject with Beth? She seemed certain that there was no problem and never wanted to even discuss the issue. As I was pondering how to go about it, I had a message from a guy who was a member of one of the sites. His name was Brad, and he sounded pretty sleazy. He said that in my case, Beth was the problem and that I should consider an affair. I told him I would never do that. So then he suggested an alternative.

Brad sent me a link to a site that he said would change my life. Naturally, I was skeptical. But I was in between work tasks at the time, so I clicked on the link, which took me to a site for Marital Intimacy Solutions. The solutions, it turned out, were pharmaceutical: specifically a pill that it was claimed could turn the least amorous woman into a sex-obsessed bimbo.

Obviously, I was appalled. The site looked dodgy, and the pictures of sexually-provocative blonde bimbos, that had clearly been taken from porn shows, were rather degrading, though I could feel my cock stirring as I gazed at them. Surely it was wrong to use drugs to solve this problem? But then, I reasoned, that the pills probably wouldn’t even work. I could always test them on myself, I thought, if I didn’t want to give them to Beth. They weren’t that expensive, so I ordered a packet, and soon forgot about it.

A week later the drugs arrived. When I opened the plain parcel, the packaging inside depicted another blond sex goddess lying semi-naked and pouting. I quickly ripped up the package and stuffed the pills into my pocket.

All day I pondered what to do? Was I really going to do this? Was it fair? By that evening, I had decided that I wasn’t going to do it, that was, I had decided until Beth came through the door. She had been at work all day but she still looked gorgeous. I wanted her so much, wanted to feel her pressing her enormous breasts against me, wrapping her smooth legs around me, pushing her tongue into my mouth, like we did when we were first together.

She asked me to fetch her a glass of wine, and I made up my mind, there and then. Shakily, I poured the glass of Cabernet and was about to pop one of the pills out of its casing when Beth came into the kitchen. Quickly I dropped the pill into the medicine draw.

“Oh honey, by the way, I have to go to a teaching conference this weekend. I’ll be leaving in the morning. You don’t mind do you? I’ll be back Monday.”

“Of course not,” I replied, smiling nervously.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she said, kissing me on the cheek and returning to the living room. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Thank goodness I hadn’t given her that pill.

“Honey, can you bring my wine now?” she called from the other room.

“Just coming,” I replied, reaching into the medicine drawer without looking and grabbing the packet of pills.

*  *  *  *

I dropped the pills into the drawer by my side of the bed while Beth was in the bathroom. I had hoped that perhaps the two glasses of wine she’d drunk that evening would have relaxed her and maybe stirred something in her, but when I kissed her lightly on the shoulder, she had murmured something about having to be up early the next day and moved away, so I rolled over and soon fell asleep.

I woke with the sun streaming into our bedroom. I turned over and saw an empty space. The wardrobe was open and some of her clothes were missing. I couldn’t hear anyone moving around. Beth had gone. I sighed, turning to lie on my back, instinctively slipping my fingers into my shorts. I was hard, as usual, though I couldn’t remember what I’d dreamt about.

Suddenly I heard a soft, light tapping on the door. I didn’t have time to reply before the door opened and Katie sauntered in. My cock instantly stiffened. As usual she was wearing a flimsy little top – a grey one with a pink Barbie on it – and a tiny pair of shorts. She walked over to the bed, smiling, and slumped down onto it.

“Hey, good morning. Do you mind if we hang out for a bit?” she said, kneeling on the bed, and tilting her head at me.

“N…no…not at all,” I replied, shifting in the bed, hoping that my erection wasn’t obvious. She smiled and thanked me.

“It’s just I’m really stressed with all the exams and everything. I was up late last night and I dropped another tab of adderall but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

I tried not to stare at the ample curves of her young breasts that were clearly visible through her tee but my cock was rock hard now.

“Well…if there’s anything I can do to help…”

She smiled and put her hand down onto the bed.

“Oh thanks, you’re the best. Older guys are so wise. I guess that’s why I have a thing for them,” she said, smiling.

I couldn’t reply. Her hand was just an inch or two away from the bulge in the bedsheet that betrayed my erection. As I watched, my throat dry, she slid her slender hand up the sheet until it was almost at my bulge. I looked up into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and between her parted lips I could see the tip of her tongue.

At that moment, a loud musical ringtone burst out. Katie closed her eyes.

“Oh that’s probably Tiffany. I have to get that.”

I watched her flounce off the bed and hurry out of the room and closed my eyes. I adjusted position in the bed, trying to push my erection down. What had happened to her? Why was she behaving like this? And then it dawned on me.

Hurriedly, I opened the bedside draw and pulled out the set of pink bimbo tablets. Except the row of tablets in my hand were not pink. I was holding a set of adderall tablets. If I had the adderall, that must mean that Katie had…

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The Queen’s Concubine

I couldn’t tell how long I had been in that filthy dungeon. I had drifted in and out of sleep a few times, but every time I woke up I was greeted with the same dismal, damp surroundings. My ragged floor-length dress didn’t keep me warm and the iron manacles at my wrists and ankles were making my skin sore.

I was the only prisoner in that cell, and the loneliness added to my despair. I was locked deep underneath the Queen’s castle, with no food or water. I was cold, hungry and hopeless and every so often I heard a blood-curdling scream that made me tremble.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps in the corridor outside and I froze. There was the sound of a key turning in the lock. Instinctively, I huddled back into my corner of the dungeon. The heavy stone door opened slowly. Two of the Queen’s accursed guards came in and stood either side of the doorway. They were followed by a haughty-looking woman in a long red robe. She wore elaborate make-up and her hair was tied up tight atop her head.

”Is this the peasant girl?”

”Yes ma’am.”

She looked at me and sniffed.

“Scrawny little thing isn’t she. Still, the Queen’s appetite is insatiable these days. Take her upstairs. My servants will prepare her.”

As the guards drew close to me, I hunched up and tried to back away further into my corner. When would my nightmare end?

*  *  *  *

My name is Alina. I was born to a simple family in a small village on the edge of our nation. The village is a long way from the capital and close to the border with Slizea. A long time ago, the Slizeans had a great empire, built through kidnapping and enslaving people from the neighboring territories, including our village.

My parents taught me that the Slizeans were cruel, immoral people, who cared nothing for right and wrong, and only understood violence and desire. They told me terrible stories of what happened to young girls from our village when the Slizeans attacked. Many of our girls were taken, captured, dragged back to the castles and palaces of the Slizeans and never seen or heard from again. My parents taught me that if the alarm sounded to signal a Slizean attack, I was to drop everything, not to look back and to run into the forest outside the village, there to hide until the danger was past.

Yet none of these raids had happened in my lifetime. Our village was kept safe by patrols sent by our king to guard the borderlands. Those of us who had never seen a Slizean raid began to doubt that they had ever happened, or at least, suspected that the elders were exaggerating about how terrible they were.

But in my twentieth year, things changed. A new ruler came to the throne in Slizea, a Queen known only as the Dark One. She was reputed to be the most terrible, evil and insatiable ruler that Slizea had ever known. Her armies soon began to attack our lands, and gradually, the patrols that protected our village became less and less frequent.

I still wasn’t worried. It all seemed so far away, the war and the Dark One. My parents and their neighbors sat around the fire at night frightening one another with stories of the Slizeans, but I ignored it. I thought they were being foolish. I was young, free and happy.

One day, I was carrying a pail of milk from the village milking shed to our hut when I heard a distant horn sounding. At first I wasn’t sure what it was, but then I heard screaming and saw villagers starting to run. One of them shouted that the Slizeans were coming.

Dropping my pail, I turned and started to run. But I wasn’t quick enough. I had barely reached the open grassland behind our village, when I heard the thunder of hooves. Over my shoulder I caught a glimpse of black riders and huge horses. As I tried to run, I felt something wrap around my legs and tighten, causing me to sprawl onto the ground.

I struggled desperately, shaking my whole body, but I couldn’t escape. Two black-armourer soldiers had dismounted and were turning me over, tying rough, tight rope around my wrists, pulling on the rope so hard that I screamed out. I tried to shout for help, but they laughed at me, and dragged me along the ground. Eventually, I was lifted up and thrown onto the back of a horse. Lashed to the saddle, they galloped back through the village. I saw houses and people and other soldiers as we sped by, but it was so disorientating that I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, we had stopped. Two more soldiers lifted me off the horse and dragged me to a wooden cage on the back of a cart. I was lifted up and thrown inside, along with three other girls from my village. They were all too frightened to speak, but we all hugged one another, with tears in our eyes as the cart began to roll away, rumbling out of our village and across the border, heading into the black heart of Slizea.

*  *  *  *

I was grateful to be free of the manacles but I was weak and stumbled more than once as I was led up a flight of stone steps to the upper levels of the castle. A door was opened onto a room with straw on the floor and a roaring fire. On the fire was a black cauldron full of something boiling and in the centre of the room was a giant bowl made of polished white stone. Two servant girls, with long blonde hair and delicate white gowns were busy with the cauldron, but stopped what they were doing to stare at me.

“What is that?” I muttered, pointing at the bath in fear.

The courtier shook her head.

“You peasants are disgusting. That is a bath.”

She clapped her hands and the servants hurried over.

“See to it that she is clean and presentable for her majesty. You have one hour.”

With that, the courtier turned on her heels and left me alone with the servant girls. They both smiled at me. They were tall and clean-skinned and seemed to be well-practiced in dealing with village girls. The first servant led me to the white bowl and told me to climb into it, which I did, with some help. I watched the other girl take water from the cauldron and mix it with water from a pail into a second bucket.

Distracted, I didn’t notice what the second servant girl was doing, until I felt a tugging at the waist of my dress. Before I could react, she had unfastened it and the dress was slipping off my shoulders. I tried to hold it on, but it was too late. The dress fell away, and she pulled it clear of me. I was standing naked in the room, feeling the combination of cold air and the heat from the fire bathing my skin. I tried to cover my nakedness, but the servant girls didn’t seem to notice it. The first one brought the bucket of water over and then they both began to bathe me, tipping one bucket of water after another over me. Between each dousing, they rubbed fine-smelling oils and potions against my body. At first I recoiled in shame at their touch, but they continued with their work and I got used to it. It reminded me of how my mother used to bathe me, in the bucket we shared with our neighbors.

When they had finished with the bathing, I climbed out of the bath and they gave me a soft cloth to dry myself. Then they handed me my new clothes, which was nothing more than a single black leather tunic. As the first servant girl pulled the cord at the front of it tight, pressing my breasts together, I breathed in sharply. The tunic was so short, it barely reached halfway down my thigh. Worse still, there were no other garments. I was completely naked underneath it. It was awful! It was immoral! I couldn’t wear something like that!

“I can’t wear this!” I protested.

“It is her majesty’s preference,” said the first servant girl, smiling.

“What…what will she do to me?”

The second servant girl giggled.

“You will find out.”

“Beware her kiss,” said the other girl.

I did not have time to ask what she meant, because just then the door opened and the courtier reappeared. She looked me up and down, then nodded.

“Good. Follow me,” she said.

I was escorted out of the room, feeling the cold air against my legs, against my half-exposed breasts, and between my thighs. I felt so ashamed. That strangers were able to gawp and gaze at my body was a great disgrace.

But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I was led up another flight of stairs to a high wooden door, watched over by two more black-armored soldiers.

“We have brought her Majesty’s prize,” said the courtier. One of the guards leered at me and opened the door. The courtier nodded at me to enter. I took a few, cautious steps forward and then heard the heavy wooden door slam closed behind me.

The room was huge and warmed by an enormous roaring fire set in one wall. The floor was covered in deep, luxurious rugs. Off to one side was a table piled with plates of food, upon which my gaze lingered, longingly. And dominating the centre of the room was a large, imposing bed, covered in red silk sheets, upon which reclined the Queen of Slizea.

She said nothing for a moment or two, looking at me with her head tilted to one side, until finally, she spoke, her voice ringing loudly in that room.

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